Wi' lichts in till their hand.

O white they cam', yon babie thrang,
A' silent o'er the sod;
Ye couldna hear their feet amang
The graves, sae saft they trod.

And aye the can'les flickered pale
Below the darkened sky,
But the licht was like a broken trail
When the third wee bairn gae'd by.

For whaur the can'le-flame should be
Was naither blink nor shine--
The bairnie turned its face to me
An' I kent that it was mine.

An' O! my broken he'rt was sair,
I cried, "My ain! my doo'!
For a' thae weans the licht burns fair,
But it winna' burn for you!"

She smiled to me, my little Jean,
Said she, "The dule and pain,
O mither! frae your waefu' een
They strike on me again:

"For ither babes the flame leaps bricht
And fair and braw appears,
But I canna keep my bonnie licht,